


kick your ass

by maiselocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson is a creep, Caring Greg Lestrade, F/M, Fluff, Greg is Sweet, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Protective Greg, Reader-Insert, Sexual Harassment, i hate anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiselocked/pseuds/maiselocked
Summary: philip anderson is creepy. you're a badass. greg lestrade immediately develops a crush on you.tw/ sexual harassment!
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & You, Greg Lestrade/Reader, Greg Lestrade/You
Kudos: 67





	kick your ass

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt list by paopufruitt on tumblr 
> 
> prompt: "i'm fully capable of kicking your ass."
> 
> i take requests by the way!

“Y/N?” 

“Yes, Kelly?” 

“Mycroft Holmes wants to see you in his office.”

“Of course he does.” 

Y/N Y/L/N. Language and decoding extraordinaire. Five years you had been working with the MI6, interpreting secret messages, studying codes, and translating and by God, you were the best. Ten plus years of researching linguistics and learning languages paid off. Fluency in 15 languages, knowledge of 4 dead languages, well-traveled and versed in cultures worldwide. It was no surprise you were working with the big dogs. 

Not only you were incredibly intelligent but also the MI6 had trained you physically. Decoding secret messages from terrorist groups and threats to the security of England had its fair share of danger. After an incident 2 years ago where you were kidnapped, your coworker and sometimes boss, Mycroft Holmes, declared that you were to go through the physical training the field agents received. You liked to brag about the fact that you could successfully make someone unconscious while explaining what you’re doing in another language. 

“Thank you, Kelly,” you told your assistant. She nodded her head and left your office. Working with Mycroft Holmes had its ups and downs. You were one of his favorite employees and that meant free lunches, big offices, the best technology, rides everywhere, etc., etc.. It also meant you were called into his office upwards of 5 times a day and assigned the toughest cases (he didn’t really trust anyone else with them). 

You pushed yourself from your chair, straightened out your clothes, and started the walk to Mycroft’s office. Your heels clicked on the shiny clean floor until you got to the almost medieval-style office. You didn’t bother knocking on the door. You never did. 

“Hey, Mycroft,” you announced. He looked up from a folder and greeted you with a nice smile. 

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” Mycroft said. He gestured his hand to the chair in front of his desk but you elected to ignore it and instead sat halfway onto his desk. You wouldn’t annoy him like this if you knew you couldn’t get away with it. But _boy_ , you could get away with it. 

“What top-secret, super dangerous message do you need me to decipher now?”

“I don’t need you-“

“Well, thanks. That doesn’t hurt.”

Mycroft shook his head and closed the file. “How am I able to tolerate you as much as I do?” You chuckled at his small joke. Mycroft slid the file your way. “There’s a serial killer in Central London. Six victims, all killed in the same way.”

“I’m not the detective. That’s your brother.”

“Yes but next to every victim, they leave a message wrote in different languages combined together. They’re not simple languages either. They’re old. Obscure. We think they created some kind of code that only they know.”

You nodded your head in a simple understanding and flipped through the file he handed you. “What do you need me to do first?” 

“Go to Scotland Yard. Ask for the DI Lestrade. Tell him I sent you. If he doesn’t believe you, you know what to do.”

-

The cab ride to Scotland Yard was completely silent as your mind ran through the different details of the case, creating a profile in your head of what kind of person the killer is. Obviously, they’re intelligent, possibly just as interested in linguistics as you were. The manner of death was rather gory with every victim. It angered you to know that they suffered greatly before their death and it simply made you all the more determined to work on the messages and find the person responsible. 

The car slowed to a stop outside of a large building. You paid the driver and got out. The doors to the Scotland Yard pushed open and you went inside. Moving swiftly through security, you finally made it to the receptionist. 

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade,” you told a young woman. 

“Can I see your ID, miss?”

You smiled politely at her and pulled out the MI6 ID you kept with you at all times. Surprisingly, people let you anywhere when they know you work for the secret service. The receptionist glanced at the ID and placed a phone to her ear, dialing the Detective Inspector. “Sir, there’s an MI6 agent here to see you. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Lestrade, laid back in his chair, chewing on a donut, sighed. When an MI6 agent was here to see him, they undoubtedly came from Mycroft Holmes. He had dealt with so many emotionless, know-it-all secret service workers and he didn’t know if he could deal with them any longer. However, he took one more bite of his donut and told the receptionist to let them up. 

“If it’s that freak again-“

“It’s not. Besides, the receptionist wouldn’t call if it was him,” Lestrade immediately cut Donovan off, tired of her antics. 

The last thing Greg Lestrade was expecting when a knock came to his door was a beautiful woman, standing tall in heels and a perfectly tailored outfit, files and folders in hand. When he normally would’ve stood up and greeted you with politeness, he was stunned into silence. 

“Hi. I’m Y/N,” you said. Donovan noticed Greg’s shock and rolled her eyes. 

“I’m Sally Donovan. This is Greg Lestrade,” she said, shaking your hand. 

Greg took to staring at you for a little bit longer for eventually shaking himself out of it and standing up. “MI6 agent?” He asked. 

“Something like that,” you responded. He sat back down, pointing towards a chair in front of his desk. You couldn’t help but notice his awkward, but cute, fidgeting and the way his eyes seemed to hold more shock and awe than he was letting on. You took the seat, sitting the files on the table. “I’m the head linguist with the MI6. I decode messages, secret codes, anything like that. Mycroft briefed me on your case and sent me here to help.”

“The Central London killer? With all the freaky messages?” He asked. 

“That’s the one,” you said with a smile. “I’m fluent in 15 languages and counting. Just started studying this really old Native American language not too long ago. I know a lot about old and dead languages. I figured I could be some help.”

Greg’s eyebrows raised as you listed off your credentials and skills. He hadn’t been this impressed since he first met Sherlock. However, that wore off about the third time he deduced everything about him. You weren’t only impressive but beautiful. It was an odd thing he was feeling but he didn’t mind it. 

“Who’s this?” A voice came from behind you. You turned around in your seat, making eye contact with a rather weasel-y looking man. 

“Anderson, this is Y/N. She works with the MI6,” Greg told him. Another feeling sprung in his chest when he noticed the way Anderson’s eyes lingered on your body, particularly your chest. You shifted in your seat, feeling small under his gaze. You immediately turned back around, now feeling his eyes boring into your waist and back. 

Greg suddenly felt protective of you and moved to stand next to you. “Do you want to go see the messages? They’re in evidence right now.”

“Yes, thank you,” you said. The two of you went off to the evidence room, leaving Anderson and Donovan. 

-

A small headache flourished as you stared at the almost illegible notes. You first thought that the notes would be easy to decipher because you just figured the words were different but _no_. There were words that wrote in Spanish but had Italian accents and letters. There were hieroglyphics, Latin letters, _everything_. 

Greg’s face wore worry when he watched you close your eyes and rub your temples. You grimaced as a pang of pain hit behind your eyes. 

“You okay?” Greg asked. You opened your eyes and looked at him with a sad smile. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just getting a headache from reading and deciphering all of this.”

“Can I get you anything?” 

A soft pink tint came to your cheeks at his generosity. “Water. And if you have any acetaminophen, please.” 

“Of course,” he said. Greg stood up and left the room in search of a first aid kit and a bottle of water. Back in the office, you laid the papers down, deciding to take a small break. 

You walked over to a plain wall and leaned back on it, enjoying the cool feeling that spread through your body. Because of your tightly shut eyes, racing mind, and fingers running small circles on your forehead, you didn’t notice the presence coming up next to you. 

“Hey.” You jumped at the sudden sound and turned to look at the source. Anderson was leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a smug look on his face. You didn’t respond to him. Why would you? You had only known him for the short time you had been at Scotland Yard and you already detested him with your whole being. “You’re really hot, ya know?”

“You’re really making me uncomfortable, ya know?” You muttered, mocking the tone in his voice. You grabbed the files from the desk and flipped through them. You hoped he’d get the message that you were not interested and never will be interested but alas, he didn’t. 

“And you’re so smart too. I bet you know how to be really freaky,” his voice dropped to a whisper at the end and at the end of his sentence, he placed a rough hand on your butt and gripped it. 

You were horrified, disgusted, a little scared, but over everything, you were incredibly angry. Anderson smirked when you turned around, a fake, innocent smile plastered on your face. It went away however when you landed a punch on his cheek. 

“Don’t you never and I mean _never_ place a finger on me again. I may just be the MI6 decoder but I trained with the best of the best. I’m fully capable of kicking your ass. Not to mention the fact that I can have you fired in a span of five minutes. Now get away from me before I decide to break your nose next,” you sneered out. Anderson was scared (to say the least) and immediately left the office. 

Greg Lestrade watched from his door, medicine and water in hands, as you yelled at Anderson. He had seen him touch you and was ready to intervene but decided against it upon seeing you handle it yourself. He came in to the office. “Wow,” he whispered. 

You turned to face Greg and gratefully accepted the medicine with a smile. “I don’t take well to creeps. Sorry about that.”

“No, he deserved it completely. It was awesome.” 

The two of you looked at each other in silence before breaking out in laughter and returning to the same position you were in a few moments ago. Greg, however, stood a little closer to you. Rather it was out of protectiveness or just genuine need to be closer to you, he didn’t know. All he knew while thumbing through language books and letters was that he had never felt his heart so alive and so many butterflies in his stomach in years. 

-

“Thank you for everything, Y/N,” Greg said as he shrugged on his coat and strapped his gun to a holster. “We sincerely couldn’t have done any of this without you.” 

You just shrugged, pulling on your own coat. “It’s what I get paid for. It’s no big deal. Glad I could help, really.” Greg watched you reach into a pocket in your pants and fish out a bright pink sticky note. “Call me whenever you catch this guy. I wanna know how it goes.” 

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” you smiled and turned on your heel. However, before you left, you glanced back at him. “See you later, Greg.”

He wasn’t sure what you meant by that but didn’t bother to ask and instead offered a small wave. As you got inside of the elevator, he looked down at the note. 

𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘵. 

𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 

𝘠/#

𝘠/𝘕 <3


End file.
